Life After Death
by carthagegirl
Summary: Believing that Erik is dead, Raoul and Christine attempt to move forward in their relationship. But as Christine tries to adjust to her new role, another dark force is moving into their life. Will Erik be able to press ahead, or will he be drawn back in?
1. Erik is Dead

A/N: Usual disclaimer- I own nothing but characters of my own creation. This fic draws from Leroux/Movie/Musical.

The two darkly clad companions made their way silently across the lake, neither wishing to give voice to the thoughts which filled their minds. The dim light of their lantern barely broke through the darkness, yet they pressed on. The sound of the rippling water echoed off the cold stone walls that surrounded them, the strange sound giving rise to fears that both had tried to suppress. The heavenly music which had once rung through these catacombs was gone forever, replaced with a stillness only death could bring. At the front of the boat, the seated figure tried to conceal the mournful tears that slipped from behind closed eyelids, but to no avail. The man pushing the boat along knew too well the sadness that held the heart of the one before him.

"Christine, at your word I can turn the boat around. We need never return or think on this again," he said gently.

"No, Raoul, I promised him. I can only pray now that he will be at peace, that this will be our chance to begin anew."

As she spoke, Christine slowly turned the gold band that hung heavily upon her finger- the ring that Erik had given her, with the request that she return it to him upon his death. It caught Raoul's eye as the light danced off it. How he detested that ring. It had been a constant reminder of a man whom he wanted nothing more than to forget. And despite Christine's words, Raoul knew that this journey would not provide them with the freedom they so desperately hoped for.

Soon it came into view- the house buried in the cellars deep beneath the Opera Garnier; Erik's home. Raoul leapt from the boat, the water soaking through his clothes up to his waist. He found himself shivering, not from the cold, but from the terrible memories which inundated his mind. As he pulled the boat ashore, he was stung by the pain both he and Christine had suffered at Erik's hands in this, his home. He tried to push from his mind the echoes of the past; cries for mercy, maniacal commands, and a choice which should be forced on no one. He offered out his hand to Christine, helping her step from the boat. He held both her hands in his as he once more offered to take her home.

She removed her hood, allowing her dark curls to fall freely about her shoulders, and shook her head determinedly. "We must do this, Raoul. It is only proper."

He nodded his acceptance, and then stepped to remove the shovel from the boat. Raoul walked behind Christine, watching her carefully as she led him through the house. They had only begun to enter the dining room when they found the body lying on the floor, arms at its side. Christine gasped at the sight, turning to bury her face in Raoul's shoulder. With his free arm he held her tightly to him, whispering words of comfort as he waited for her sobs to subside.

Raoul's thoughts returned to the previous morning when Christine had joined him for breakfast at the Café de la Paix. While he awaited her arrival, he turned his attention to the paper. The advertisement in the Epoque had both thrilled and distressed him, and he was deeply ashamed that he should take such joy in it. And though he tried to conceal it from her, the pallor of his face betrayed his secret to Christine. When she inquired what was troubling him, he had no alternative but to show her the advertisement. He watched her eyes flash back and forth over the words several times, as though unable to understand what she was reading. _Erik is dead_. His hands flew across the table, quick to dry the tears from her eyes and lovingly stroke her cheek.

Now he stood in Erik's home, once again consoling his fiancée. Finally she took a deep breath and turned around once more to face the body. Fearing that she would once again begin to cry, Christine set about tidying the house while Raoul dug the grave.

"Chéri, I wish you would sit and try to relax," he spoke with concern.

"I can't sit and look at him. It is too difficult," she replied quietly without looking up.

Realizing that nothing he could say would deter her, Raoul concentrated once more on his task. When he was finally finished, he called to Christine. As they stood beside the body, Christine's breathing began to quicken. Her whole body was trembling as she lowered herself down to the floor. Raoul bent down to one knee, holding her arm to steady her. With some effort, Christine was able to loosen the gold ring from her finger. Hesitantly she took Erik's hand and slid the ring over his knuckle, then raised it to her lips.

"Should we remove his mask?"

Christine looked down at Erik's face thoughtfully. She recalled the violence with which he had reacted when her naïve interest had caused her to pull away his disguise. She knew now that it had merely been fear which had driven him, but she still shivered with fright at the memory.

"I do not think he would wish it."

Raoul lifted Christine to her feet and gently pulled her to the side. As carefully as he could, he lowered Erik into the grave. His eyes were always on Christine, watching to make sure that her frail and fragile soul did not give way under the weight of grief. He covered the body and, making the sign of the cross before himself, spoke a few words of prayer. He held out his hand for Christine, waiting to lead her back to the boat. She sniffled back the tears before speaking her last words to her angel.

"Goodbye, my poor Erik. May you find happiness now, knowing that you have taken a piece of my heart with you."


	2. Forging a Friendship

"Is Mademoiselle Daae in?" Raoul inquired of the demure maid who had answered the door at the home of Christine's caretaker, Mama Valerius.

"Oui, monsieur," she answered, signaling for him to enter. He stepped inside the small sitting room, removing his hat and gloves as the maid went to fetch Christine. His eyes lit up as she entered the room, a small but genuine smile on her lips.

"How are you feeling today, mon amour?" he asked, lightly kissing her cheeks. Being so close to her, he could see that her eyes were red from crying. Though it troubled him to see her in pain, he did his best to remain cheerful.

"I am feeling much better, now that you are here," she replied, leading him to the settee. "Would you like me to send for tea?"

"No, darling, that's not necessary. I'm afraid that I won't be able to stay long."

Christine's face fell. "I had hoped that we would be able to spend some time together."

"I had as well, chéri. But unfortunately I am required to attend a business meeting in my brother's stead."

"Of course. I completely understand," Christine said, the polite smile on her face faltering.

Raoul drew her into his arms, rubbing her back as she wrapped her arms about his neck. Raoul silently cursed Erik, blaming him for all of Christine's pain and insecurity. He thought of the unseen scars that Erik's years of deception and betrayal had left upon Christine's heart and mind. He cared not what spiritual punishments he might endure for his angry and vengeful thoughts; he couldn't help but feel that, had Erik not already been dead, he would not have hesitated in killing him.

"I have an idea that may serve to brighten your spirits," Raoul offered.

Christine pulled back, her brows arched in curiosity.

"An old friend of my brother's, the Marquis de Touraine, is hosting a ball in a few evenings. My sisters have come to Paris for the occasion. I thought perhaps you might want to spend some time becoming acquainted with them and join me at the ball?"

A soft smile returned to Christine's lips before she pressed them to Raoul's. "I can think of nothing I would enjoy more."

"Then I shall send my valet at once to tell them to expect you," Raoul, excitement evident in his voice.

He leaned in and, after placing another kiss on Christine's lips, whispered, "I love you."

He walked to the door, turning back every so often to glance at Christine. She felt heat spring to her cheeks every time he turned to smile at her. Then, suddenly remembering something, Raoul stopped in the doorway. He faced Christine, nervously twirling his hat in his hands. "There is something that I must ask of you, Christine. My brother has a rather strict view on propriety and etiquette. I think that, for the time being, it would be best that we not speak of the engagement to anyone."

Raoul could easily read the disappointment on Christine's face. He quickly crossed the room and sat himself beside her.

"There is no need to worry," he said in a tender voice, stroking her soft curls. "After I have spent some time properly courting you, I will announce our engagement to the world. I will shout it from the rooftops for all of Paris to hear. Every person I pass on the street shall hear how elated I am to be engaged to the breathtaking Christine Daae."

Christine giggled quietly, a dim light of happiness returning to her deep brown eyes. Raoul was comforted by that light; since she had learned of Erik's death, Raoul had seen it die out as if attacked by a cold wind. He was relieved to see that the light was not gone forever.

"I love you, Raoul. I will do as you ask."

Once Raoul had departed, Christine hurried to her room to prepare herself to meet his sisters. He had always spoken of them with such affection. They had served the place of his mother, just as Philippe had been required to act as his father. Raoul had lost both of his parents at a young age- his mother while giving birth to him and his father shortly thereafter. His oldest sister, Genevieve, was married to the Duc de Beaufort. She had the more rounded figure of her mother, as well as her porcelain skin and dark hair. She was, apparently, quite an accomplished pianist. His other sister, Roslin, was born barely a year before him. She shared her brother's light hair, but had a more slender build than her sister. She was greatly admired by all the young gentlemen, and for her part, enjoyed playing coy. She took pleasure in the attention bestowed upon her by all the young men, and found great difficulty in selecting just one to award with her affections.

As she finally settled upon a pale blue dress and bonnet, Christine was suddenly struck with a fear that ran through her veins like ice. What happened if they didn't like her? What if she should do something to embarrass herself and draw attention to her lower status? She knew how Raoul valued his sisters' opinion. Should they disapprove of her, would Raoul end their engagement? He had already asked her to keep it secret; perhaps he was ashamed, not wanting his family to know that he would stoop to marry a chorus girl-turned diva.

"Don't be foolish, Christine," she chided herself. "He loves you. He has already risked so much for you. He is not going to give you up now."

Christine looked over her appearance a final time, making sure that she had cleaned her hands and face, before putting on her bonnet and gloves. Outside, she found Raoul's carriage, the footman, and the driver waiting for her.

"Monsieur de Chagny requested that we escort you to the ladies' townhouse," the footman addressed her politely

"I see," Christine replied, slightly confused. "But how did he-"

"He took a horse back into town, Mademoiselle," the footman interjected.

"I am sorry that I caused you to wait so long," Christine said as the footman helped her into the carriage.

" 'Tis no trouble, my lady," he responded, closing the door once she had been seated.

Once he had taken his place beside the driver, the carriage pulled away from the house, heading towards the city. After a short ride, they arrived at a townhouse in the heart of Paris which Roslin, Genevieve, and her Duke had rented for the next few months. They wished to spend their entire spring in Paris- the Duke attending to business, and the sisters shopping and attending social events.

The footman stepped down from his seat and approached the window of the carriage. "May I take your card in?" he asked.

Christine's stomach twisted into a knot. "I…I don't have a card."

"Then I shall go announce your presence, Mademoiselle Daae."

"Thank you," she called weakly. _Oh God, this is hardly the way to begin._ For a moment Christine thought of leaping from the carriage and running back to Mama Valerius's house, but fear kept her frozen where she sat.

The footman knocked on the door of the house and spoke quietly with the butler who answered, a tall middle-aged man with cold features. He disappeared into the house for a moment, then returned for more hushed words with the footman. After a moment, the footman returned to the carriage, opening the door and holding out his hand for Christine.

"The ladies are prepared to meet you."

Christine nodded slightly, stepping down from the carriage and entering the house. The butler led her to a sitting room where Genevieve sat at a desk writing a letter, Roslin in a large armchair doing needlepoint.

"Mademoiselle Daae," the butler announced as Christine entered the room.

Roslin immediately stood from her chair, setting aside her needlepoint before crossing the room to embrace Christine and place a light kiss on her cheek.

"We are so thrilled that you were able to join us today, Christine," she said enthusiastically.

"Of course it would have been polite of Raoul to give us more advanced notice," Genevieve broke in.

"Oh hush, Genevieve," Roslin scolded her. "It is our duty to make our guest feel welcome."

Both sisters glared at each other coldly before Genevieve turned back to the desk and Roslin was able to concentrate once more on Christine.

"Would you care for some refreshment, Christine?" she asked, her countenance yet again bright and cheerful.

"N…no thank you," she stammered, surprised at how warmly Roslin had accepted her.

"I feel as though we are already friends, Raoul has spoken of you so often."

"He has spoken to you about me?" Christine asked, a bit taken aback.

"He has tried to conceal it, but his affections for you are quite obvious," Roslin said with a playful smile, her voice low so as not to draw the attention of her older sister.

Looking in Genevieve's direction, Roslin raised her voice. "Ugh, I have been cooped up inside this stuffy house all day. Would you care to join me for a walk, Christine?"

"That would be lovely," Christine responded confidently, her nerves settled by Roslin's kindness.

Roslin smiled, a wide beautiful grin. "Voletta," she called to her maid, "Mademoiselle Daae and I wish to walk about town. Please go upstairs to prepare our walking dresses."

Christine tried to conceal her confusion. _Walking dresses?_

"No need to worry, Christine. You can wear one of mine," Roslin said, patting Christine's hand. "Voletta will help you dress," she nodded to Voletta, signaling to her to take Christine upstairs.

"Of course, Miss. This way."

Christine followed Voletta up the stairs to Roslin's bedroom. It was very inviting, a bright sunny yellow. A light breeze blew through the window, ruffling the gossamer curtains. Christine noticed several beautiful canvases, landscapes painted in the impressionist tradition, scattered about the room waiting to be placed. Christine inquired about the artist as Voletta helped her dress.

"Mademoiselle de Chagny painted them herself."

"She is quite talented," Christine remarked.

"Though she would never reveal it to anyone close to her," Voletta responded.

"Why ever not?" Christine was shocked. _Why would someone hide such a gift?_

"I suppose the reason is that no one ever really took notice of it. Madame de Beaufort was quite a gifted pianist. It was her talent that everyone took interest in. Mademoiselle de Chagny was always the prettier of the two; her talent was supposed to be in forging friendships and obtaining an advantageous marriage. I don't think anyone expected any art from Mademoiselle de Chagny."

Christine released a deep sigh. She could not imagine her life if her singing had been discouraged in favor of the development of a social network. It felt strange to her- a woman of her status pitying a woman such as Roslin. She stayed in the room, more closely examining the paintings as Voletta prepared Roslin for their walk.

When both women were adequately dressed they set about their walk, arms linked, and Voletta a few steps behind. It was a comfortably warm spring, with a light breeze that carried the scent of blossoms just beginning to bloom. The two women smiled courteously as they passed others on the street. Christine couldn't help but notice how Roslin caught the eyes of all the young gentlemen who saw her, but she quickly turned her attention back to Roslin. They began with polite conversation, speaking of the weather, the parties to be held in the city. But they quickly began to speak informally, as though they were reunited friends catching up after a long separation.

Roslin glanced around cautiously, certain that no one was walking close enough to hear. The playful grin which had put Christine at such ease earlier returned to her lips. "Now Christine, what is this that I hear of an engagement between you and my brother?"

The color quickly drained from Christine's face. _How could she have known?_ Christine remembered her promise to Raoul, quickly denying any news of an engagement.

"Christine, there is no need to worry. Your secret is perfectly safe with me. I have seen a light in my brother's eyes and heard a song in his voice that only come when he speaks of you. I would not do or say anything to deny him that. If my brother loves you, that is enough for me."

Relief quickly flooded her. "Oh Roslin, you have no idea how I have dreaded this meeting and keeping this secret. I can't thank you enough."

Roslin smiled, but her eyes quickly softened as her voice took on a more reserved tone. "My sister, however, is another matter. I would not reveal your engagement in her presence yet."

"I don't think she likes me very much," Christine said sadly, looking down to her hands.

"I know she seems cold now, but give her some time. She is very caring and fiercely protective of those she loves. She is a very loyal companion, once she has gotten to know you."

Christine beamed, comforted by Roslin's words. Perhaps it was not her personally that Genevieve seemed to detest, but merely the stranger that she knew little about.

"Are you excited about the ball that the Marquis is hosting?" Roslin asked.

"I am quite looking forward to it. But I'm afraid…" Christine trailed off.

"What?"

"I'm afraid that I am unfamiliar with the etiquette now required of me. I do not want to be an embarrassment to myself or your brother."

"Christine, Raoul could never be ashamed of you!" Roslin exclaimed.

"I hope I am not too bold in my request," Christine began, her cheeks flushing, "but do you think that you could perhaps instruct in how to behave?"

"It would be my greatest honor," Roslin answered with a giggle. "I will call upon you tomorrow afternoon to begin our lessons."


	3. Ressurection

He still paused in trepidation whenever he approached a shadow or a dark corridor. He felt foolish doing so; a man at his age who had once prided himself upon his bravery. The horrors that he had seen and risen above, and yet a corner obscured by darkness could instill in him a terrible dread! He struggled against himself, trying to calm his threadbare nerves, but his fears always emerged the victor. And in one moment a week earlier, the Persian had seen all his fears realized.

He should have known that something was awaiting him that night; an ominous feeling had hung heavily over him the entire day. As he went about his daily activities, he found himself continuously glancing over his shoulder, certain that someone was there yet finding nothing. When walking the streets of Paris, he quickened his pace to hear if the footsteps behind him followed suit. Later that evening as he prepared himself for an evening out, he chided himself for his foolishness. Standing before his mirror, his ebony skin glowing in the lamplight, he assured himself that he was a capable man and that he had nothing to fear. What utter nonsense it was, to always be fearful of a figment, a tattered and withered memory. With this new determination, he was able to disregard the painful sigh that floated on the wind, the icy cold that wrapped about his wrists and trailed the back of his neck as he left his home in the Rue de Rivoli..

There was no sense of uneasiness as he enjoyed a performance of Bizet's _Carmen_ with Nora Byrne, a young woman that he had been courting. While he had been generally ignored by the other women he had met in France, she had been attracted by his exotic look. She often told him that his jade eyes reminded her of the stories her parents told her; the legends of St. Patrick and the shamrock, the tale of Tír-na-n-Og. Nora's parents had immigrated to Paris from Ireland during the great famine. While not a great beauty, Nora exuded a quiet loveliness and grace. Her dark raven hair was usually pulled up neatly, otherwise it fell in wild, unruly curls. The Persian often found himself staring into her dark eyes. Now as she smiled warmly at him, any former thoughts of danger lurking in the shadows were lifted from his mind.

His steps were light as he entered his home, thinking of the warmth of Nora's hand as he had timidly kissed it and the flush that came to her cheeks as she tried to hide her smile. The image of that smile was still on his mind as he lit a candle in his bedroom. As he turned about to undress, he caught sight of a slender figure waiting in the doorway. How could it be that on the night he finally pushed the ghosts of the past from his mind, the very embodiment of his fears should appear before him. Had he not been so overcome with fright, he might have laughed at the irony of it.

"Why Daroga, you seem surprised to see me! What did you think had become of poor, unhappy Erik?"

The Persian stood speechless, unable to look away from the gleaming yellow eyes before him.

"You have never been at a loss for words before. I am quite disappointed," Erik said, taking a few steps into the room.

The Persian instinctively backed away, grasping at any object atop his nightstand. He got hold of a letter opener and waved it defensively in front of him. "What business could you possibly have here, Erik?"

A sudden gust of wind blew through the window, knocking over the candlestick and plunging the whole room into complete darkness. The Persian spun about, swinging the letter opener violently. He heard Erik's voice all about him, whispering.

"You honestly think to do me harm with that?" the voice laughed. "Do not be foolish, Daroga. If I had wanted you dead, do you think there would still be breath in you?"

The Persian suddenly stopped, realizing the truth of Erik's words. His quick breathing slowly abated, as he felt about the floor to retrieve the candlestick. Placing it back on the nightstand and igniting the flame, he found that Erik had once again retreated to the doorway.

"I heard that you had released Mademoiselle Daae and the Vicomte de Chagny," the Persian began softly.

"She gave her kiss freely to me, here on my forehead," Erik replied, his voice heavy with sadness. "She cried with me, Daroga; her tears mixed with mine, even as I removed my mask. She was my living bride. But I could not bear to cause her any more pain. I know she loved the boy. So I took him from the Communist's Dungeon, took him to my Christine. They kissed before me, and I gave them their freedom."

"And what of the Comte de Chagny?" the Persian broke in.

"He stumbled and fell, Daroga. I assure you that I had no part in it. He was badly injured, but still alive. I took him to the surface where he would be found and cared for. Now I was speaking of Christine- I released her from her promise, gave her life with her precious Vicomte; I only asked that Christine return to bury me upon my death, with the ring that I had given her. And that, Daroga, is why I have come here with a request."

"After all that you have done to me, after almost taking my life, you come here to make a request of me?" the Persian cried indignantly.

"I assure you that what I come to ask is of no benefit to me."

The Persian eyed him, hesitantly meditating on what he had said. "I make no promises, Erik. What is it that you want?"

Erik released a heavy sigh. "I watched them, even after they had left me. The boy held her so tightly, and she clung to him in return. But there was something else, something in her eyes. There was a light that shone from them when I sang to her as her angel; I watched that light go out when she realized who I truly was. When she looks at him, I can almost see it flickering again. There is but one way to bring back the light, Daroga, and that is with my death."

"I don't understand."

"We must make her believe that I have died, Daroga. That is the only way that she can ever be truly free."

"You assure me that this is not a trick, not a ruse to draw Miss Daae once more into your life?" the Persian questioned him.

"I told you, I cannot stand to be the cause of her suffering any longer!" Erik roared. He took a steadying breath, and spoke calmly once more. "With this last deception, I shall become nothing more than a memory for Christine. And perhaps even that will fade in time."

The Persian nodded his head, accepting Erik's petition. The next day he set off to place an advertisement in the _Epoque_, and take a body from the graveyard to place in Erik's stead.


	4. Preparing for a Ball

"Roslin, you are positively devious!" Christine giggled as Roslin finished recounting another story about her exploits with a suitor. This one involved a few stolen moments with a young Duke in his country estate. This afternoon Roslin and Christine were once again in the sitting room of Roslin's rented townhouse, empty cups of tea on the elegant mahogany table in front of them.

"Come now, Christine. I'm certain you've had your share of experiences with my brother," Roslin retorted.

Christine lowered her eyes as her cheeks flushed. She thought of how her stomach twisted itself in knots whenever Raoul smiled at her; how her breath quickened when his bare skin touched hers. Yet she and Raoul had never really acted on their desires. He was too much of a gentleman to take her to bed before marriage. Christine was surprised at how willing Roslin was to speak freely about her little indiscretions. Perhaps because she already looked on Christine as a sister.

Roslin glanced at the clock on the mantle. "You have distracted me long enough, Christine. We should get back to your lessons. Now, as I said, the behavior at a ball is fairly simple. A lady cannot refuse the invitation of a gentleman to dance, unless she has already accepted that of another."

Christine looked at Roslin quizzically. "You mean, I must dance with anyone who asks?"

"No need to worry, Christine. I'm sure Raoul will have all your dances in advance." Roslin patted Christine's hands supportively. Then she continued, "When we leave, we take care not to disturb the master and the mistress of the house. We later make a visit of thanks, during which time we may discuss the pleasure of the ball."

Christine listened carefully, her head cocked to one side. She didn't understand the need for so many seemingly pointless rules. And one breach of this etiquette could leave her ostracized by all of Raoul's society friends. How on earth was she going to manage it all?

"Now," Roslin went on, "There are many things which you may inadvertently say with your fan. It's best you learn what each action means." She picked up a fan of gilded wood with a silk taffeta leaf and handed it to Christine. Picking up a bone fan with heavy satin twill for herself, she began to demonstrate.

Fanning fast, she said, "This signals an independent woman."

Christine imitated her, smiling brightly.

"Very good. Now this," Roslin continued, fanning in front of her face with her right hand, "is an invitation for a gentleman to approach you."

"I don't suppose I'll have much need of this one," Christine commented.

"The same movement with the other hand says 'Leave me'." Roslin said dramatically, turning up her nose.

Christine could not suppress a laugh as she did the same.

"A fan spread open wide is a signal of love. A fan shut shows hatred. When you open and shut a fan, it means 'Kiss me'." Roslin finished, puckering her lips.

Both girls collapsed into a fit of laughter, grasping each other's arms.

"I'm glad to see that you two are enjoying yourselves," a voice called from the doorway.

"Raoul!" Christine called excitedly from the settee.

Roslin suppressed a smile as her eyes moved back and forth between Raoul and Christine; their had eyes locked, their smiles conveying words unspoken. She walked over to her brother, placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, and moved towards the stairs. "Voletta, would you attend me upstairs please?"

Raoul watched as Voletta obediently followed Roslin up to her room, a sly smile on her lips. He chuckled as he walked to Christine's waiting arms. He placed a soft kiss on her lips, but as he pulled back and looked into her hazy eyes, he felt a pull deep in the pit of his stomach, a fire that ran through his whole body. He pulled her in for a passionate kiss, slowly lowering her onto the settee. She arched her back as his hands roamed down her body and under her skirt, caressing her thighs. He gently nibbled her ear as she ran her hands along the tight muscles of his back, pulling his shirt free from his pants. She released a deep moan as he reached to remove her dress. Suddenly Raoul pulled back, running a hand through his hair as he let out a frustrated sigh.

"Did I do something wrong?" Christine asked worriedly, sitting up beside him.

"Of course not, Christine," he answered, gently rubbing her cheek. "It was my fault. I should have never…We will be married soon enough," he said with a small smile.

Christine nodded, taking Raoul's hand from her cheek and placing a light kiss in his palm.

"I came because I thought you might want to shop for a new dress for the ball."

"I really can't afford a new dress at the moment. One of my old ones will have to suffice," she responded.

"Christine, don't be ridiculous! You know I will buy you whatever you want," Raoul offered.

"Are you sure?"

"You are going to be my wife. All I want is to make you happy," he said sincerely.

"I don't need new dresses to make me happy," she said, playfully placing her forehead against his.

"Well I insist," Raoul laughed, lifting her to her feet.

After bidding farewell to Roslin, Raoul and Christine embarked on the streets of Paris. Raoul desperately wished that he could reach out and grasp Christine's hand as they walked, but he knew it would be improper to do so. He had his valet, Ancel, walk behind them to further ensure the image of propriety. They wandered about the shops in the Rue de la Paix, finally stopping at the Couturier de Villars. Raoul waited patiently as Christine was fitted for her ball gown, which would be delivered in two days time.

After he finished paying the dressmaker, he escorted her back to Mamma Valerius's home in his carriage. They lingered in the doorway, fingers intertwined and lips softly brushing against each other. Raoul ran his fingers through Christine's curls before finally saying goodbye and turning towards his carriage. With a longing look at the closed door, Raoul signaled for the driver to pull away. As Christine's home finally disappeared from view, Raoul's valet Ansel removed a heavy envelope from within his jacket.

"I thought it best to wait for Mademoiselle Daae's departure before giving you this, Monsieur."

Raoul removed the paper from the envelope, a deep frown appearing on his face as he recognized the handwriting. "You judged correctly, Ansel. Mademoiselle Daae must never know of this."


	5. Philippe

A/N: To anyone who is reading, I'm sorry that it has been so long since I last updated. There has been a lot going on in my life lately and I don't have enough time to write as I would like. I appreciate your patience and hope you stick with me!

Christine turned to the side once more, carefully studying her reflection in the full-length mirror. The tiers of her lavender ball gown were accentuated with lace. Above the plunging neckline hung a diamond pendant that Raoul had purchased for her. Christine pulled her shoulders back, standing a little straighter and lifting her chin.

"Are you still staring at yourself?" a teasing voice called from behind her. Meg Giry slowly approached her best friend, arms crossed in front of her chest and a smile playing on her lips. "Do you not remember what happened to Narcissus?"

"It is quite impossible to drown in a room where there is no water, Meg," Christine replied dryly.

"It was only a jest, Christine. Whatever is the matter with you?"

Christine turned to apologize. "Forgive me. I have just been so preoccupied." She turned once more to the mirror, her slender fingers smoothing the fabric of her dress, "Everything must be perfect; not a hair can be out of place."

"I don't believe I have ever seen you so nervous, not even on the night of you first performance."

Meg could hear Christine's voice shake slightly as she spoke. "This all so difficult, Meg. This is a foreign world to me. Raoul has been prepared for this his entire life and I…What if I cannot fit into his world?" At that, Christine shook her head determinedly. "No, I can't allow that. I will do whatever it takes for them to accept me."

"Christine," Meg began, laying a hand supportively on her shoulder, "Relax."

Christine offered her a weak smile. "I suppose I will be on edge until the day that Raoul and I are married and I know that he is mine."

"Mademoiselle, your carriage has arrived," the maid spoke softly from the doorway.

"You look perfect," Meg said, pulling Christine into an embrace.

As Christine walked out the door, she found Raoul standing beside the carriage, Roslin seated inside.

"You're breathtaking," Raoul whispered in her ear as he helped her step up into the carriage.

He seated himself beside her as the carriage pulled away. Christine noted how wonderful he and Roslin looked, and she only hoped that she had been able to match their elegance.

"Here is your dance card," Roslin said, handing Christine a small booklet that would hang from her wrist. Inside were the titles of the songs which would be performed at the ball. Beneath each one was written Raoul's name.

"I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of requesting each dance," Raoul said, smiling playfully at her.

"Such presumption!" Christine giggled as she lightly kissed him.

During the ride Christine had spoken easily with Roslin and Raoul, but her hands began to tremble and her stomach twisted as their carriage approached the Marquis's estate.

Reading the fear on Christine's face, Roslin attempted to reassure her. "I'm certain you will be the belle of the ball, but you must promise to make some time for us as well."

A footman approached their carriage, opening the door and addressing them formerly. "Monsieur, Mademoiselles."

Raoul stepped out, pulling his gloves on as the footman offered his hand out to the ladies. Christine looked on all the arriving guests, the splendor before her matched only by the masque ball that had been held at the Opera Garnier. That night still held an ambivalent feeling for her. The joy of her engagement to Raoul, broken as her angel had intruded and revealed the depth of his obsession. Poor Erik would never know the happiness of attending such an event with a companion on his arm. But thoughts of her angel were pushed aside as Raoul took her arm in his and escorted her and his sister inside.Inside the room, two men took notice of their entrance.

"I see that your brother is once again in the company of Mademoiselle Daae," the Marquis noted.

"A mere dalliance, I am certain," Philippe responded.

"There are rumors of an engagement, Philippe," the Marquis responded in a hushed voice.

"I assure you that my brother, young and foolish though he may be, would not be taken in so easily by a woman of her status. And even if she should manage to attain his affections, he would not act without my permission."

Christine glanced about the ballroom, paying vague attention as Roslin discreetly pointed out the best of Parisian society. Suddenly she heard a deep, booming voice from behind.

"Raoul, Roslin! I have been awaiting your arrival."

The source of the voice was Raoul's older brother. Aside from the distinguished, graying hairs at his temples, the wrinkles that creased beside his eyes, and the full moustache above his lips, he was an exact replica of Raoul. Taking Roslin's hands in his own, he placed a kiss on both her cheeks and offered a hug to Raoul.

"The captivating Mademoiselle Daae, an honor to see you again," Philippe spoke, his eyes staring into Christine's as he raised her hand to his lips.

Something about the way he looked at her made Christine uncomfortable, as though she were some sort of detestable insect to him. She drew her hand back, her eyes remaining with his. Finally, he turned to Raoul.

"May I enjoy the pleasure of the first dance with Mademoiselle Daae?" he asked.

"If the lady consents," Raoul answered, glancing to Christine.

"That would be lovely," Christine answered hesitantly, forcing herself to smile.

"I shall be waiting for your return," Raoul said before Christine allowed herself to be led out to the dance floor.

As the band began to play, Philippe took Christine's hand, placing his other on her waist. She held up the bottom of her dress as they began to dance. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Roslin being approached by several gentlemen. She offered her hand out to one, smiling at Christine as she joined them on the dance floor.

"Is it what you had expected?" Philippe asked, trying to draw her into conversation.

"It's lovely," Christine said absentmindedly, gazing about the room to find Raoul.

"I'm sure he has not left."

"I'm sorry?"

"My brother. I know you were looking for him," Philippe said confidently as he gave her a devilish smile.

Christine smiled sheepishly, casting her eyes downward.

"You're quite taken with him, aren't you?" he questioned as he expertly turned about.

"Well, I-" Christine found herself unable to speak.

"I understand that he is also very fond of you. Fond enough for…an engagement perhaps?"

Christine's eyes widened and her mouth hung slightly open, her silence betraying the truth.

"I see. You must understand that this marriage could be damaging to my brother. But I will do all that I can to protect you both," Philippe said. He smiled warmly at her, but inside he was cursing.

He believed that Raoul was only indulging his urges with this girl; he had never imagined that his brother had any intention of marrying her. He should have known that his young, naïve brother would be unable to distinguish love from lust. This diva has seduced him into an unfavorable engagement; he had no idea what he was doing. Philippe was determined to save him from himself, and prevent a marriage that could injure his family name.

Philippe and Christine applauded as the music ended. With a slight curtsey and a quiet "thank you", Christine hurried away to find Raoul and tell him what Philippe knew.

At that same moment Philippe was also looking for someone, but with more malicious intentions.


	6. A Plan and a Proposition

_You could have said something, anything. You should have denied it._ Christine silently berated herself as she searched the ballroom for Raoul. She finally found him at the far end of the room, laughing with two men she didn't recognize. How could she tell him that she had confirmed their engagement to his brother, the one thing he had asked her not to do?

He extended a hand to her as he saw her approaching. "Gentlemen, allow me to introduce my companion for the evening."

Christine frowned slightly, upset at being described as merely his 'companion.' Perhaps she had unintentionally divulged the truth of the engagement to Philippe, but deep down inside she had wanted everyone to know. For the moment though, she swept aside her resentment and smiled graciously as Raoul introduced her.

"Messieurs, this is Mademoiselle Daae. Christine, the Marquis de Touraine and the Duc de Bourbon."

"The famous Mademoiselle Daae! It is an honor," the Marquis exclaimed, bowing respectfully. "I quite enjoyed your performance as Juliet."

The Duc silently lowered his head, barely acknowledging Christine's presence.

"Raoul, may I speak with you privately?" Christine asked hurriedly after a polite curtsey for her host.

"Excuse me gentlemen," Raoul dismissed himself and followed Christine out of the room.

With raised eyebrows, the Marquis turned to his companion. "It seems that she already has him under her thumb. I don't understand how Philippe can allow this."

But Raoul and Christine were ignorant of the tactless comments and the prying eyes that followed them. Holding Raoul's hand, Christine found her way to a small library off the ballroom. She breathed in the scent of old leather soaked with cigar smoke as she took a deep breath to steady herself. She cautiously peeked her head outside the door before closing it.

Raoul was surprised by Christine's curious behavior. "What's the-"

Christine interrupted before he could finish his question. "He knows; Philippe knows about the engagement."

"How?"

"I think he knew before he even asked me. I didn't know what to say and…" Christine trailed off, tears forming in her eyes.

Raoul pulled her into his arms, sighing into her gentle curls. "It's alright chéri, don't cry. He only found out a little sooner than I had hoped."

He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her head up. "Please don't cry."

Her deep brown eyes searched his. "You aren't upset with me? I know how much you wanted Philippe to see a proper courtship."

"Of course I'm not! I myself have a most difficult time trying to deceive Philippe, how on earth could I expect you to accomplish it?"

Raoul took her face in his hands and gently kissed her. "Come now, let us rejoin the party. You owe me a dance."

Accepting the handkerchief that Raoul offered, Christine dabbed at her eyes. "And I shall happily oblige," she responded, allowing a smile to grace her face.

But in the ballroom, Philippe was plotting a deception of his own. In front of the picture window was the very man he had been hoping to find.

The Baron de Valois was an exceedingly wealthy young aristocrat. As the youngest of three sons, he held no position of responsibility in his family. He freely roamed among the taverns, drinking until his head swam and finding diversion in strange beds. Women were easily seduced by his striking face and easy charm. False promises of love and courtship made the morning after a night of passion often resulted in a smart slap on the cheek. But this was easily remedied with a spiteful laugh and a visit to his waiting mistress. It was for this roguish behavior that the Comte had sought him out.

"Monsieur le Baron, I hadn't expected you to attend tonight," Philippe said nonchalantly as he approached the young man.

The Baron's lips curled up in a smirk. "Monsieur le Comte, you may dismiss with formalities and address me as Andrew. And you may kindly tell me why you have engaged me in conversation, as we both know you disapprove of my character. Only something truly important would cause you to lower yourself enough to be seen in my company."

Philippe, slightly taken aback, began his proposition. "Well…Andrew, I need your help to remedy a situation with my brother."

"The ever-perfect Vicomte de Chagny? What 'situation' could he have possibly found himself in?" Andrew asked mockingly, his eyes surveying the room.

"First, it must be understood that there be no mention of this to Raoul. He does not fully understand the circumstances he has placed himself in. It involves his fiancée…"

"The famous opera diva. So they are engaged after all? I had heard rumors." Andrew turned to look Philippe squarely in the face, lacking the modesty which would have required him to lower his voice. "And what of the other rumors? Of her mysterious masked lover? It's been mentioned by some of my more unsavory company that he agreed to further her career so long as she kept his bed warm."

"It is exactly those kinds of rumors that I do not want swarming around my family. To the point, Monsieur, I have come to entreat you on my brother's behalf to help him realize the error he has made in this engagement."

"And how am I to accomplish that?" Andrew asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest and cocking his head to one side.

"By revealing his fiancée as the harlot that she is. He is able to see past her lowly station, but I doubt that he would be able to forgive a betrayal of his heart. Your reputation is well known; if it were to be discovered that you had taken her to bed, I am certain that he would break off the engagement immediately."

"Why, Monsieur le Comte, I hadn't imagined you capable of such a scandalous ruse! Against your own brother, no less."

"Not against him," Philippe corrected, "for him. For his own good."

"Please explain to me why I would be willing to assist you in this trickery?"

"I am ready to offer you a large sum in exchange for your…services."

"You certainly must be aware of my financial situation. I have no need of any money from you."

"Is there some other arrangement we can come to?"

"Where is this fiancée?" Andrew asked, once more looking about the room.

Philippe too turned his attention to the other guests. Finding Raoul and Christine on the dance floor, he pointed them out to Andrew. "She is dancing with Raoul, the brunette."

Andrew leered at the beautiful young woman that the Vicomte held in his arms- the exquisite curves of her body, the pout of her pink lips, the innocent, angelic face. She would be a worthy addition to his conquests.

"You know, Monsieur, my brothers are always compelling me to be of more service to my fellow man. And for you, I will perform this favor without asking anything in return."

"Remember that Raoul can never know that we have spoken," Philippe spoke threateningly, "You do not wish to incur my anger."

"No need to worry, I would never betray your confidence. That lovely young creature will be screaming and writhing beneath me before the week is out; and your brother will be able to find a much more suitable companion."

As Philippe strode away to find more respectable company, Andrew stepped back into the obscurity of the shadows. Like a dangerous predator he eyed up his prey, waiting for the appropriate moment to strike.


End file.
